


Desperate Changes

by _FUCK_DAT_DJ_ (Octotrooper)



Series: Tentacled Transformations [2]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Consensual, Gross, Loyalty, Memory Loss, Other, Sex, Smut, TF, Tentacles, Transformation, Weird, age gap?, ambiguous genitalia, mind wipe, obnoxious, wasabi, weird genitalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octotrooper/pseuds/_FUCK_DAT_DJ_
Summary: (18+) Being an Agent is more dangerous than it should be, and there's only one tentacled DJ who can provide the kind of escape you need...





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> LEGAL DISCLAIMER: 18+ readers only. Please. That's the jurisdiction in my country and I'm sticking to it.
> 
> A standalone sequel to Shifting Cephalopod with a bigger focus on the intelligence-draining aspect because I love it. I love writing about Octarians, so Part 1 is pure exposition. If you're impatient and just want the sexy stuff, feel free to skip to Part 2!
> 
> This Fic Contains: TF, group sex in the back of a club, memory loss/mind alteration, IQ reduction, W A S A B I F U C C, a few gross bodily fluid things, macro, and (of course) DJ Octavio being his obnoxious, sexy self.

“Squidnapped!”

That’s what the Cap’n said had happened to the last “Agent 3” who went down there. The word makes your blue squid blood boil. Those damned Octarians! First they take the Great Zapfish, and now they’re stealing away your fellow Inklings. What are they going to take next?

You grit your beak-teeth and stare down at the kettle beneath your feet. It’s been a long two months ever since you moved back to your childhood city. The Cap’n recruited you almost immediately after stepping foot in Central Station. Restless days shooting up the severed tentacle creatures lead to nights where it seemed you couldn’t sleep nearly enough. You’re exhausted.

You drop into squid form and slip through a kettle grate. The entire thing turns almost too hot to stand, then there’s a slamming noise as your inky body jets towards an underground spawn point. It’s uncomfortable compared to the Turf game spawn points you’re used to. You hope it’s just the weird Octo tech and not that you’re getting old.

Your body re-forms, and you stick out your arms to catch your balance - Octarian spawn points aren’t made to handle Inklings. A pink-and-yellow “sunset” appears on screens hung all around the walls of the cave. There are also gigantic mason jars hanging from the ceiling, filled with what looks like Jelly-Aide drink. Are they Octo technology, or just decorations? You’re not sure.

Standing about fifty feet from you is the strangest Octarian you’ve seen yet. Or maybe “standing” is the wrong word  – the squat tentacle-being is bouncing around in a small circle. It’s shaped like the smaller airborne units, the tip of its tentacle forming a short, stubby tail instead of swooping over its face. A heavy-duty yellow hat completely obscures its eyes, and its purple lips are huge, even for an Octarian. On its feet are a pair of roller skates equipped with tiny ink tanks.

“Oho! That one’s a Tentakook.” The radio signal is weak here and Cap’n Cuttlefish’s voice is slightly garbled through your headset. “Speedy rascals, they are. Be careful, Agent 3!”

“You say that about all of ‘em, Cap,” you respond. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

You rush forward, Hero Shot aimed at the Tentakook’s face. It lets out a gloppy cry and drops a bomb out of its hat before zipping away, ink shooting out of its skates. You run after it, dashing around corners and hopping over blocky gates before cornering it on a small balcony.  It doesn’t seem to know what to do. It zips back and forth and drops bombs at odd angles. A crooked grin spreads across your face. Stupid things.

The Tentakook brakes to a stop before you can pull the trigger and turns to face you.

“Awright, I know this is against protocol, but can we talk?”

You accidentally shoot a blast of teal ink into the sky. You’ve heard gurgling noises out of the Octarians before, but the Tentakook in front of you had just spoken in Squidlingo. Is it a trick?

“Cap’n…” you begin, “It talks.”

“What?” The Cap’n sounds angry. “Just shoot it!”

The Tentakook hops just enough to tilt its hat backwards, revealing a pair of fearful greenish eyes. It mouths the word “no.”

“Agent 3?”

“Cap’n, I don’t think I can shoot this one,” you say, lowering your gun.

“Bloody hell… It’s a trap, Agent 3! That’s an Octarian! You’re an Inkling! It hates you!”

You look at the Tentakook. The ink tanks on the back of its skates are empty. It couldn’t attack even if it wanted to.

You shoot a ring of ink around you from your gun just in case it decides to rush at you, then sit on the ground to show that you’re willing to listen. The Tentakook smiles and blubbers several sentences you can’t understand.

“Can’t believe it! You didn’t shoot!” it finally manages to say something in your language again.

“Your ink tanks are empty,” you say, pointing to the Octarian’s skates with the end of your Hero Shot. “But if you attack me, I’m still going to fight.”

“That’s fair,” says the Tentakook.

There is a silence as both Inkling and Octarian stare at each other. You absentmindedly pick at some of the grass growing out of the pavement.

“Why do you attack us?” the Tentakook finally asks. “What did we do?” You weren’t expecting it to ask that – weren’t they the ones stealing from the surface?

“You take things from us,” you say. “And you’re squidnappers! Maybe if you let the last Agent go, we’d ease up!”

“We would _not,_ ” a voice rings in your ear. You flinch. You forgot the Cap’n was still listening. The Tentakook looks bewildered.

“The last Agent?” it asks. “What are you talking about?”

You angrily describe the previous “Agent 3” to the Tentakook and tell them that it’s been months since they’ve gone missing. A look of realization splashes across the Octarian’s face.

“Ohhhh, _them_ ,” it says with a wry smile. “I can take you to them, but I don’t think they’ll want to go back up!”

“What do you mean?”

The Tentakook skates to the edge of the balcony and motions for you to come closer. Tightly gripping your Hero Shot, you cautiously approach the Octarian. It points towards a nearby platform with the tip of its prehensile tail.

_“_ They look pretty happy to me,” it says. On the platform is a single Octotrooper, puttering back and forth on its nozzlepad with a contented look on its face. You scrunch your broad nose.

“That’s not Agent 3,” you say. “Agent 3 is an _Inkling_. That’s an _Octarian_.”

“No, no, no,” the Tentakook says, looking very pleased with itself. “That’s a _Remix._ ”

“AGENT THREE, BLAST THAT DAMNED THING RIGHT NOW!” You’ve never heard Cap’n Cuttlefish this angry before. Is there something you’re missing?

“What’s a Remix?” you ask.

“They’ve been changed, inside and out,” the Tentakook explains. “They’re Octarian now. They wanted to join us, and we couldn’t have a _squid_ on our side. The DJ was glad to make some special arrangements.”

“The DJ?” Cap’n Cuttlefish had never mentioned a DJ.

“THAT SCALLYWAG! WHY WOULD HE DO THIS!?” The Cap’n is in a rage. You just feel confused. Why would Agent 3 leave Inkopolis for a life like this?

The Tentakook leans over the side of the platform and loudly gargles something in the direction of the Octotrooper. The Octotrooper looks up and burbles something back, then it catches sight of you. A flurry of emotions crosses the Octotroopers face before settling on “guilt.” It sinks into its nozzlepad, embarrassed.

“See?” the Tentakook says. “That’s them.”

You’re suspicious, but you talk with the Tentakook for a while, asking her questions about Remixing and why Agent 3 left. The Tentakook is surprisingly open with you about everything she knows. It’s like she’s so simple that lying doesn’t even cross her mind.

Something about the way Cap’n Cuttlefish is screaming into the phone doesn’t seem right. You leave the kettle and return to the surface empty-handed.

The Cap’n is in a rage. You don’t care. You have too much to think about.

-x-

The last few weeks have been full of mixed emotions. You find yourself sitting on the edge of a floating platform next to that same Tentakook at the end of it all. The fake sky in this dome is filled with spiraling galaxies and turquoise nebulas.

“He acted like you were mindless drones.” You repeat your former Captain’s words with disgust. “I thought you were a bunch of dimwits.”

“Lots of us are stupid,” the Tentakook says. “The less tentacles we grow, the less smarts we have.” She flops her single tentacle tail.  

“You don’t seem _that_ stupid,” you say.

“I’m talking to the enemy, aren’t I?” The Tentakook sounds nervous. “That’s not smart, I just got lucky.”

A firework screams as it shoots upward, then explodes into the shape of an octopus.

“It’s nice down here,” the Tentakook reassures you. “You’ll like it.”

“I still don’t know if I’m ready for this,” you say. Getting Remixed isn’t something you particularly want to do, but you feel like you don’t have a choice. You certainly can’t stay in the Underground in your current form, and you’re certain it’s the one place the Cap’n won’t find you.

That damned old man is beginning to scare you more than the Octarian “Menace.” Every time you think he’s given up on chasing you, there he is again, giving you a death glare from a distance. A few days ago there was even a note from him tacked to your apartment door. Inkopolis isn’t safe anymore, and it’s likely that he’ll find you wherever you go.

“Hey, you’re an adult, right? How kinky are you?” the Tentakook suddenly asks.

The question takes you by surprise – you haven’t discussed your sexuality at all with the Tentakook. You admit to her that you’re a bit of a fetishist and hastily mumble a few of your more obscure preferences. The Tentakook’s face fills with glee.

“Oh man,” she says. “OH MAN. DJ Octavio’s not gonna believe this! I’m so jealous.”

“Octavio?”  You scrunch your face. What little you know about the leader of the Octarians doesn’t exactly bring you comfort. He’s an ancient and power-hungry octopus who declared Inklings his sworn enemies over a century ago. The Octarians spoke of his thundering, mind-altering music with awe and joy. It caught you off guard the first time your Tentakook friend started going on about how wonderful its effects were. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“He’s going to be your leader, isn’t he?” the Tentakook says matter-of-factly. “And I’ve got a friend in the bio department who says that Octavio’s been itching to _personally_ administrate the latest Remixing powder. By way of, ah, penetration.”

“What!? Why would he want to do that?”

“He likes pleasure,” the Tentakook says. “You should take him up on his offer. Sessions with Octavio are legendary.”

Your stomach feels like it’s been tumbled in a laundry machine. Sex with someone as old as Cap’n Cuttlefish? How good could it possibly be? And you’re considering it! Could it be that you’re catching the Tentakook’s pure enthusiasm for the idea!?

You’ll have a lot to think about again tonight.

 


	2. Metamorphosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presenting all of yourself to the DJ for your own protection. This changes everything.

The double doors before you are golden and gaudy, gemstones of red and purple curled between a tangle of embossed octopus tentacles. Though you’ve seen this kind of decoration in photographs of splendid palaces, there’s something tacky about having a set of doors like these behind a beaded curtain in the back of a dance club.

Several other Octarians stand near you, decorated with glowsticks and body stickers. All of them hold the same VIP pass as you. The biggest of them is plump, easily twenty feet tall, and deep burgundy. An Octostriker. Every so often you catch him glancing at you from behind his tinted glasses. You swallow the glob of ink-spit building up in the back of your throat. If the DJ can please an Octarian that size, how huge is he?

The double doors swing open and you hear happy gurgles all around you. A low layer of smoke trails out into the room. You swallow another glob of ink-spit. If someone had ever told you that you would be about to have _group sex_ with eight of Inkopolis’ most hated enemies…

Black velvet curtains hang on the walls of the enormous circular room. Soft pillows and cushions are spread all over the floor, except for one area: a large circular emblem in the center with a painting of a stylized octopus on it. A steady electronic bass drum plays over towering tentacle-shaped speakers. Soft lighting pours out of stage lights in the same shade of purple as the Octarians’ Ink. A thin layer of fog hovers just above the ground.

The Octarians’ green eyes are as bright as their glowsticks in the dark. They swish their tentacles and tap their feet in time with the music being pumped into the room. Some of them are already lying in different positions, draping themselves over the bigger pillows in suggestive ways. You’ve never looked closely at Octarian genitals until just now. They’re not much like your own, just a simple hole that occasionally throbs and leaks purple ink. You shiver, knowing you’ll have one of your own very soon.

You lie down on a comfortable-looking red pillow with gold tassels and brace yourself.

The floor starts to rumble. The octopus emblem in the center of the room opens up, revealing a deep hatch. You involuntarily morph into a squid out of fear. There, tensely curled on a slowly rising platform is DJ Octavio, his aura lavish and imposing. The tentacled Shogun’s kabuto glistens as the lighting in the room begins to change colors. His massive body bops to the beat in the same involuntary way as the other Octarians.

He raises four of his arms and poses while shouting something in a deep, rumbling voice. The other Octarians gurgle-scream back at him. The DJ’s glowing green eyes turn to focus on you.

“So _that_ _’_ _s_ where you are,” he says in Squidlingo. “Whassa matter? Didn’t expect me to look this good?”

You curl your tentacles inward a little. You weren’t expecting the Octarians’ great and powerful Shogun to be like this!

“Might wanna get into your upright form,” DJ Octavio says, raising one of his heavy eyebrows. “Makes the change smooth.”

You take a deep breath through your beak and slowly morph back into your humanoid form. Seeing you sprawled out nervously on the pillow, the octopus DJ lets out a roaring laugh.

“GYA HA HA HAAAAA! So scared! Relaaaaax. You’re gonna love fallin’ into our rhythm!”

One of Octavio’s long tentacles makes its way under your shirt and starts curling around your chest and back, fondling you in time with the music. There’s some sort of grainy paste on the end of his arm. It has a particular stinging scent… could he really have _wasabi_ on his tentacles!? It causes a warm tingle everywhere it trails.

There’s a strange noise to your left. It’s an Octocopter, grunting as they’re caressed at the same time as you. They writhe in the DJ’s grasp, purple ink-drool trailing out of the side of their mouth. From what you can see, the DJ is wrapped around every person in the room at the same time. The air is filled with soft, bubbling moans, including your own.

The tip of the DJ’s arm snakes down into your pants. One of his suction cups presses against your crotch and sucks on your genitals in a steady rhythm. The sensation causes you to kick your legs involuntarily.

“Ya like that?” the DJ asks, though the smirk in his eyes reveals he already knows your answer. “Goooood. Get nice an’ inky for me.”  

He’s flicking his tentacle around your face now, dragging it across your lips. You think you know what he wants. You open your mouth. He sticks his wasabi-coated tentacle inside.

Something is different about this wasabi. It tastes… _better_ than what you’ve had in the sushi shops. Your mind fogs as you suck the paste off the DJ’s arm.

Your mouth is the first thing that transforms, lips ballooning out so far that you can see your upper lip in the bottom of your vision. You can feel their weight pulling slightly at the rest of the skin on your face. The DJ’s tentacle tenses as your new Octarian mouth forms a puffy O around it.

A pressure builds up in your eyes, accompanied by a dull pain for a few moments as your eyeballs bulge far beyond what your sockets are meant to hold. There is a fizzy sensation as they change color: grey irises, green sclera. The skin around your eyes squeezes itself into flabby, purple rims.

You’re still a bit anxious about what’s going on. But there’s a new train of thought quickly overtaking your mind.

 _I hope my lips feel good to the DJ,_ it says. _I hope he thinks my eyes are beautiful._

“Ooooh! ” Octavio’s attention has returned to you. He takes his arm out of your mouth and brushes its tip across your new lips. “I like that! Looks niiiiice!”

“Thanks, Deej…” you croak. Your voice has started changing. It’s become deeper and richer with a watery quality to it, as if you have a lot of purple ink caught in your throat.

Octavio’s arm returns to your pants and he begins rubbing it around your crotch and butt. He’s preparing himself for entry. Your groin feels squishy beneath his touch. It’s rearranging into that strange, inky hole that all Octarians have. The sensation is unfamiliar, but with the DJ touching you this way, it’s more than pleasant.

“Cute octo-pussy,” the DJ snorts. “How you feelin’ right now?”

“I like this.” Your simple words come out in an impossibly gooey gargle that no Inkling could make.

“Then you’re gonna _love_ what I’m about to do.” He plunges his arm inside you, and you let out a warbling scream. Your new hole is very sensitive to the way the DJ’s tentacle fills it. He thrusts to the beat of the techno music around you.

You wiggle your legs again and realize that the warm tension you feel in them isn’t just from arousal. They’re growing more solid, becoming firm and muscular enough to support the stout body you’ll soon have. Your Inkling shoes slip off during an enthusiastic kick, revealing tiny Octarian feet with two tentacles on the ends instead of toes.

The DJ’s thrusts are becoming deeper, more insistent as your body contorts into its new form. Your torso swells in what feels like every direction at once, growing bulky and meaty. Your shirt and pants shred to bits, giving DJ Octavio better access to your crotch.

What used to be your butt is being stretched far outward with a strong bubbling sensation, forming into a stubby, prehensile tentacle-tail. It curls and shivers with pleasure. Two areas on your back are trembling with energy: a large one behind your face, and a smaller one near the base of your tail. Your new suckers are growing in. They erupt outward with a loud popping noise, gripping onto the pillow beneath you with incredible force.

As the tentacle hair and arms you no longer need begin to shrink down into nothingness, you realize that something else is disappearing – your intelligence. In fact, it’s been dropping for a while, but it’s only now that you’ve finally noticed how slow and simple all your thoughts have become. Everything you think is a short sentence. All your logic follows a straight line from point A to point B. You’re becoming very easily manipulated by the DJ’s special Octotronica music. You’re okay with this You only have one tentacle, after all.

And it feels so, so natural for you to just lie there blankly, the DJ working your body, not a care in the world or a thought in your head except for how damn good you feel. You’re a blank, blissful mess, getting pounded by your former enemy and making wobbly moans with his every move.

“Lookit this,” the DJ says, pausing and removing his tentacle from inside you. He holds it up and shows you the thick layer of purple goo on the end. “That’s _your_ ink.”

 _I_ _’_ _m just like they are now,_ you think. This thought makes you happy. Your old Inkling life is behind you. You’re glad to have a new, simple self in its place.

“More…!” you gurgle softly in the Octarian language. The DJ squints his eyes and re-enters, thrusting even more vigorously that before. Your aroused shouts mingle with the others’, becoming a tangled mess of Octarian noises.

“TELL ME WHO YA LOVE!” DJ Octavio shouts to the sky.

“DJ OCTAVIO!” the room cries in one voice.

“WHO’S THE BADDEST DJ IN THE UNDERGROUND!?”

“DJ OCTAVIO!”

“WHO’S GONNA MAKE YOUR OCTO-PUSSY INK REEEEEEEAL HARD!?”

“DJ OCTA-A-AAAAAAAH!”

He’s too much for you. The way your body orgasms as an octopus is on a completely different level than Inkling orgasms. It consumes you, causing you to thrash about uncontrollably for a while, before settling down into a warm and sweet afterglow. The DJ removes his arm from inside of you and strokes your cheek gently.

“That’s a good lookin’ octopus,” he hisses, a smile in his eyes. “You’re gonna be happy down here.”

You let out a contented sigh and curl your tentacle body around your DJ’s big arm. He’s wrong, of course – you’re _already_ happy down here.

-x-

“Still can’t believe you were assigned the same post as me.”

Just like before, you sit at the edge of the same platform, with that same Tentakook sitting next to you, the same galaxies and nebulas projected onto the sky.

“It’s a good spot for us Tentakooks,” you say, looking down at the roller skates on your feet. “Easy to move around in. Not bad for throwing bombs, either.”

“You managed to corner me when we met, though!” laughs your Tentakook friend.

“I did?”

“Yeah! Boy, was I scared,” the Tentakook says.

“Huh.” You don’t remember your old life at all, and you don’t want to. The Underground makes such a comfortable home. You’re very sleek and fast in this form. The ink you produce is so nice and purple.

And, of course, it wouldn’t do for an _Inkling_ to swear their allegiance to the DJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story, please leave a comment! Even "nice story" is better than nothing!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this story, please leave a comment!


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